


coming up only to show you wrong

by orphan_account



Series: hypnagogia [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Gen, bucky's a little fucked that's all i know, sort of? idk, warnings for anxiety and hallucinations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 23:36:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3187478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He moves his eyes over to Steve, shadowed from the low lamp in the bedroom, and his first irrational thought is: <i>he's one of them</i>, because there's a them now, they're a they, and they're everywhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	coming up only to show you wrong

**Author's Note:**

> there are vague-ish descriptions of a hallucination and a panic attack in this, as well as a character getting injured off-screen. i also have no idea what's wrong with Bucky, but it's an accurate portrayal of whatever it is.

Bucky isn't sure what set him off—doesn't recognize any triggers, as Steve's friend called them—but still his panic alarm has been switched on. He thinks he hasn't gotten enough sleep, or maybe there's something in his house.

Not someone.

 Some _thing_.

Something that doesn't make a sound and likes to travel on his periphery. A good tactic to make him more nervous by the second.

Someone is already in his home: Steve. But he's asleep and Bucky would never want to put him in danger anyway. Steve does that enough on his own.

So Bucky stands in the middle of the living-room-slash-kitchen and watches nothing in particular until—

There! Another fleeting shadow crossing from his left and headed somewhere behind him. He starts to turn, but. That's stupid. That's so stupid. _Look back and you're dead._  You're dead don't you dare turn _you're dead you're dead you're_

He's not dead, and he isn't going to be dead any time soon.

Unless that thing gets him.

 _Stop_.

As calmly as he can Bucky walks to one of the kitchen drawers and pulls out a rubber band. Just as deliberately, he ties his hair back. Just to make sure that's not what's flashing across his field of view.

He goes back to the living room, perches on the very edge of the couch, and waits.

He waits and waits, until he can't move. No, he can physically move, but now if he does, that thing will get him. It was a game, a Game, and he's going to lose. As soon as he flinches, it'll pounce and rip him to shreds whatever the hell it is.

He might as well be dead already. No escape. Steve will wake up to his corpse in the middle of the apartment, nothing to be done about it. Steve will—

"Buck?"

Bucky twitches at his voice, but he doesn't flinch. He doesn't flinch. It's okay. He moves his eyes over to Steve, shadowed from the low lamp in the bedroom, and his first irrational thought is: _he's one of them_ , because there's a them now, they're a they, and they're everywhere.

"Are you alright?" Steve asks, but he has to know. Bucky swallows, hard, and then he's jerking away from one of those things flying by his shoulder and he's dead, he's dead, he's crying and he's dead and Steve must be too because there he is, holding Bucky up and _Steve, no, get out of here_ , he's pushing him away as hard as he can _, get out of here you idiot, go, please_ , but he won't budge and—

Please

_Please_

Bucky doesn't know what he's pleading for anymore. He doesn't know what's happening. All he knows is Steve keeps saying _it's okay, no one else is here_ , but that isn't what Bucky was worried about, was it? Of course no one is in here; his security was set up by another of Steve's friends, some paranoid freak that made Bucky leave for the entire time he set it up, of course. He's safe from people, but.

That's not the problem.

Right?

Right. The problem is—

The problem is...

"Bucky," Steve says, arms still wrapped around Bucky's torso. Bucky's been leaning on his shoulder, the only thing keeping him from tumbling to the floor. "Don't you want to sleep?"

Bucky sits up, stiff, slides out of Steve's grip. His face is wet, and his hair is in his face; it escaped the rubber band. _How hard was he fighting?_ And Steve is looking up at him, kneeling on the floor, such a vulnerable position. He's waiting for an answer, so Bucky gives him what he wants.

"Yeah," he says. "Sleep sounds good."

He stands after Steve does, runs fingers though his hair and catches the rubber band that falls out. He follows to the bedroom, his bedroom, and he lies down with Steve right beside him and he waits.

He doesn't sleep. He's sure something just darted under the crack of the door. He _can't_ sleep.

Once Steve is out, Bucky gets out of the bed, slow, careful _careful_. He goes to the kitchen, slides a knife from the drawer, and sits ever so gingerly on the edge of the sofa, feet planted firm on the carpet, legs ready to spring up at any second.

And he waits.

This time, he's prepared, he thinks. He’s ready. He'll get them. He _will_. They won’t hurt him or Steve—they will _never_ hurt Steve. He’ll get them.

He’ll get them.

-

“I'm _fine_ ,” Steve keeps saying. Sam lets out a little _mhm_ and ignores him, eyes fixed on the road, hands tight on the steering wheel. The fact that there is blood dripping on the passenger seat of Sam’s car does not seem to affect Steve’s definition of _fine_. “This is really unnecessary.”

He keeps saying that, too.  It’s very irritating.

“Keep your arm up,” is all Sam says, because Steve keeps setting it down in his lap, and it is _bleeding_. Sighing, Steve dutifully lifts his arm, resting his elbow on the door. The towel he had wrapped around it when Sam first showed up is too bloody to be useful, so mostly it’s just hiding the wound.

“He didn’t even mean to do it,” Steve insists, like Sam doesn’t believe that already. Like that will make him magically stop bleeding. He knows it was an accident, that Bucky would never purposely hurt Steve, but right now there is a five-inch long cut running from the middle of Steve’s forearm to the heel of his hand, and Bucky was the one wielding the knife.

“Just shut up until that gets stitches,” Sam says. Steve sighs again, dropping his head back. Sam glances over; his face is pale, eyebrows knit together. It hurts more than he’s letting on, because that’s just how Steve is. Irritating.

“Look,” Sam says, because his soft spot for Steve is wider than his exasperation. “I know he didn’t mean to hurt you, but you gotta see where I'm coming from. He could’ve killed you, just as easy as he did that.”

He lifts a hand from the wheel to wave at Steve’s arm. Finally Steve seems to understand, just a little, frowning at his arm.

“I know that.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ there and I don’t wanna hear it.”

Steve huffs the ghost of a laugh, and it’s quiet the rest of the way to the hospital.

- 

Steve is no stranger to stitches, so the procedure doesn’t even bother him. He listens to the doctor tell him how to take care of them and to come back in about a week to get them removed, and he leaves with Sam easily, even though there’s still blood on his pants. It’s not like he has a change of clothes.

Sam only agrees to drive him back to Bucky’s apartment because Natasha is there, and she’s the best at keeping people calm (or else). Steve left his keys there anyway, so going home would have been pointless.

Natasha is the one to answer the door, letting them in without a word. That means it must be bad.

“Where—” Steve starts.

“Bedroom,” she says. Sam frowns but doesn’t protest when Steve goes to rap lightly on the bedroom door. He hears Bucky shifting around, the bed creaking quietly, and his footsteps stopping just in front of the door.

“Nat?”

“Close,” Steve says, and Natasha snorts. There’s a long pause, and then the door knob turns and Bucky is peering out with bloodshot eyes. He’s been awake for a long time. Steve keeps his tone light when he says, “Hi.”

Bucky’s lips twitch. “Hi.”

Sam gags from the kitchen; Steve hears Natasha hit him.

“Can I come in?” Steve asks. Another pause, Bucky’s gaze flickering back to where their friends are observing. He shakes his head, jaw set stubbornly.

“I wanna talk to Sam,” he says, just loud enough for Sam himself to catch. “Alone.”

“Uh,” Sam says, and Steve almost smiles. The two of them really only spend time together when someone else is there. But Sam recovers quickly and, after whispering a quick question to Natasha, joins Bucky in the bedroom. Steve watches the door close with a frown.

“You should change,” Natasha says.

“Right,” Steve says absently.

“I put clothes in the bathroom for you,” she says, and he shoots her a small smile of thanks before he goes.

When he comes back out in fresh clothes, Bucky is on the couch with Natasha beside him, their heads ducked together. Sam is leaning against the wall by the bathroom, waiting for Steve.

“He’s not doing too hot,” Sam says. Steve looks at Bucky, at his tired slouch as he listens to whatever Natasha is saying.

“I know.”

“No, Steve, you don’t,” Sam says, getting Steve’s full attention. He’s got his Serious Counselor Face on. “He needs to be seeing someone, a proper doctor.”

“Then we—” Steve starts, but Sam holds up a hand.

“Natasha knows someone already,” he says. “But Bucky’s going to be staying with her for a while, and we think it would be best if you two spend some time apart.”

“Just because you and Natasha think—”

Now Sam lifts both hands, a surrender. “It was Bucky’s idea. All we did was agree with him.”

Steve looks to Bucky again to find him already looking back. It’s not a very big apartment, after all. He looks miserable.

“I don’t want to hurt you again,” he says.

“It was just an accident,” Steve argues. “And you could hurt Natasha if you stay with her.”

“No, he couldn’t,” Natasha says coolly. She raises her eyebrows to Steve’s helpless look. She never indulges him, so he doesn’t know why he’s surprised.

“Steve,” Bucky says, bordering on snapping. He says each word very clearly. “It doesn’t matter that it was an accident. I don’t want it to happen again. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Steve looks from him to Natasha to Sam and back; there’s no way he’ll win this argument. It’s hardly even an argument if he’s the only one fighting.

“Fine,” he says with a nod. “I just came back for my keys anyway.”

Natasha tosses them to him, and he nods again.

“Sam, can you drive me home?” he asks. Sam agrees after a moment’s hesitation, eyes darting between Steve and Bucky. Bucky looks like he might protest for a second, watching Steve sharply, but he stays silent. “See you later, Buck. Natasha.”

“I'll call you,” Natasha says. Bucky disappears into his bedroom in the blink of an eye, and something slams into the wall. Natasha disappears just as quickly. Steve itches to go in and—and help, do something, but Sam touches his arm to get him to leave.

“He’ll be okay,” he says. Steve desperately wants him to be right.

**Author's Note:**

> almost forgot: the title is from the funeral by band of horses.


End file.
